Thicker Than Water
by Reverse Gravity
Summary: [Theme...blood .drabble. .angst.] Gaara takes sadistic pleasure in the bloodlust comenting on the patterns and how it wasn't a promise that could be broken....that... and I needed a gorefix like I need heroin. [pre.chunin.exam]


_Note: This is pretty sadistic. I've never written anything 'themed' like this so I would really like it if you would reveiw._

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto…

He, himself relished the rich spattering of the blood. Little beads that slowly seeped from slits and crevices; sometimes the strong rush, creating puddles in the ground before the earth fought to absorb the liquid. Then was his favorite, a pattern that steamed hot and gushed outward, so forceful as to spray onto the fallen bodies of others. He felt so calm in the mass terror, the only item unable to be fully manipulated by fear.

**++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++  
THICKER THAN WATER  
**_by Reverse  
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++  
__  
_Gaara could never bring himself to understand the meaning of any bond; for he had not seen a bond that couldn't be broken. The only bond that existed was the connection between him and the sand that protected him. …salvaged him when he should have died; should have died like he wanted to die.

They all ran from him; bitter and resented towards him; all for something he had not chosen. Even his own uncle had proven a liar, a hypocrite. He had made empty promises. He had sworn to things that crumbled away like ash and sand. Promises… were like water.

And blood… was thicker than water.

The first time he saw it; it was not his own. It was never his own! He craved it so desperately; he wanted the taste and the texture, the bittersweet tang; the consumption of a force of life. It made him feel… for the very first time in his life: alive.

The fat juicy drops than fell on his fingers; the way they refreshed the soul like a garden after a rainstorm. The very essence of guilty pleasure; except Gaara could never bring himself to feel guilty about this.

There was nobody he ever met whom he wouldn't kill on a whim. Sometimes he considered it a blessing for them. They were put out of their misery; in death they couldn't be a tool to him or anyone else. They wouldn't feel used and torn and abused and alone.

But the sight and the smell… the hot, fresh droplets hovering in he air, the spatter dancing like cobwebs. A red-black blur of liquid against the backdrop of the sky; like a silk scarf. The terrific sky, all it's subjects drowning steadily beneath it; each one closer to death, brushing it as they neared the aura of Gaara.

He didn't know why he took pleasure in the sickening crunching of human bones. Why he reveled in the screams of the victims; cries of their own naivety. But the pressure of the marvelous sand, crushing so hard that the very tissue split… it made his stomach muscles tighten. The heightened senses and the dulling of pain, the high of adrenaline and the scorch of the blood blotting out his vision of the sky…

It was the most intense pleasure he ever felt. Maybe because of the power, maybe because of his own failed sadomasochistic urges; either way the situation made him oxygen-deprived. Light-headed and filled with insanity; Gaara could only commit another life to death.

Another promise somewhere fled like ashes in a strong wind. Like water sliding through the fingers of a desperate hand.

Flowing away with the river of blood that fanned out from the victim… Dripping away like the tiny drops that beading from the crevices of sliced tissue… Falling apart like the mind succumbs to terror just before the blood begins to flow…

And in the rage and the bloodlust two little substances begin to leak from the opponent of Gaara's mouth. The first is lies or empty promises, as clear and innocent as crystal water. But Gaara _will not_ be deceived again. The second substance is the blood, crimson and black matter spat up from the lungs. Gaara can almost _taste _the struggle for survival; the _life _in it; and he _wants _it. He wants the truth and neither the blood nor the sand that fetched it has ever let him down. He can't bring himself to even hear the empty promises.

And he gives into his monsters demands, because all he's ever known is the bloodlust.

And blood… is thicker than water.


End file.
